


No Place of Safety

by aleksrothis



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Age Difference, Grooming, M/M, Nonconathon Treat, Past Rape/Non-con, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 06:10:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19388119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleksrothis/pseuds/aleksrothis
Summary: Kent has made a home in Vegas but, when Bad Bob comes to town for the NHL Awards, he discovers how fragile the safe haven he had built is.





	No Place of Safety

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pickling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickling/gifts).



Just when he’d thought everything was going well, Kent spots him across the room. Even amongst hockey players, Bob Zimmermann stands tall and Kent knows Bob's seen him too. 

Bob starts to head across the room towards him and Kent wants to run but he can't cause a scene. It feels like seeing an incoming check but having nowhere to go. He drains his glass of champagne, hands suddenly shaking. His lips feel numb and his pulse starts to race as the distance between them closes.

"Parson!" Bob exclaims once he's only an arm’s length away, casually draping his arm around Kent's shoulder as he fights not to flinch. It would be too hard to explain away.

Kent wasn’t under any illusions what the reaction would be if he told anyone here what had happened between them; what Bob had done to him. There was ample evidence of how many of them had reacted in similar circumstances. 

At best no-one would believe Kent, and they'd claim he was lying for the attention, more likely, they'd insist Kent had led Bob on, corrupted him, no matter that he'd been just a teenager at the time, or at worse he’d be told he should be flattered by the interest. And whichever way it went, he'd be the one who tanked his career, and Bob would get to carry on as though nothing had happened.

"Let me introduce you to a few people," Bob tells him and squeezes his shoulder.

Kent swallows down his protests and lets Bob lead the way through the crowd, though he knows there will be a price for it. He had learnt that lesson at 17, after being introduced to Bob’s old Pens teammates at the Zimmermann’s New Year’s party.

He pushes the memory away. He doesn't need to relive it now, with the familiar smell of Bob's cologne in the present enough of a burden. There had been a time when he'd welcomed that scent but now he knew better and it turns his stomach.

In any other company, Kent would have been thrilled to be introduced to all these luminaries, some of them personal heroes. With Bob's hand resting proprietarily on his lower back though, Kent can hardly hold himself together enough to make a good impression. He'll just have to hope anyone he was rude to will chalk it up to nerves rather than arrogance.

He's able to get away for the actual presentations as he has an assigned seat with the other nominees. Kent is almost surprised Bob hadn't wrangled himself a seat closer but he supposes sitting near him throughout the ceremony would draw press attention he wouldn't want.

Kent politely claps as one winner after another is announced, some already set like the scoring titles, others sending waves of approval or surprise through the audience. His own attention is far away, thinking about what he's going to do once the awards are over. He is so distracted he might have missed the Calder being called if those seated around him hadn't shifted as their gazes all settle on himself, Myers and Howard.

They read out the nominees in reverse order, playing clips from the year, and it still takes Kent a moment to register that he's won. Somehow he forces his signature smile, wishing for his normal snapback to hide behind, and shakes the others’ hands before making his way up to the stage.

At least they might take his shaking as nerves. Kent accepts the trophy but, halfway through his speech, he catches Bob’s gaze and stumbles over his words. The hungry expression on Bob's face makes him want to run but there is nowhere he can go. 

Kent knows what Bob will expect but he can’t let Bob into his condo. Vegas is supposed to be his safe place and the thought of Bob there makes his chest feel tight and he struggles to keep breathing steadily. For the first time, he wishes the awards were held anywhere else. Well, maybe not Montreal, and probably Pittsburgh was Bob's territory too, but there were thirty-one other NHL cities, surely they could have chosen somewhere else?

Kent stumbles back to his seat, sinking into it, suddenly grateful he'd fallen short of the Art Ross and Rocket Richard. He doesn't think he could go through that again.

Once the awards are over, Bob makes his way straight to Kent and, though he sees him coming, he can't move away from his conversation without seeming rude and he doesn't need more questions to be asked, not when he's worked so hard to dispel all the speculation about his and Jack's relationship.

"Congratulations, Kenny," Bob says and Kent can't help but shudder at hearing that. He hates the way Bob makes a point of using Jack's favorite name for him, reminding him off his other reason for keeping this quiet. Even if Jack hasn't spoken to him since his overdose, Kent will always try to protect him.

Still, they are surrounded by eavesdroppers so he pastes on his best press smile to say, "Thanks. It means a lot to me." He’s not lying about that, at least; the Calder is a symbol that he had deserved to go first overall, regardless of Jack's presence. 

His original conversational partner takes their leave and Kent tries not to be obvious as he casts around for an excuse to get away, looking for someone else he should be talking to.

"How about we get out of here?" Bob suggests in a low, intimate tone, leaning in so he can't be overheard. "Have a private celebration?"

Even though he'd known it was coming, the proposition still leaves Kent cold. He pointedly looks around at the gathered press, some of whom are already pointing cameras in their direction. “I should probably stick around for a bit. Don’t you have a fancy suite here? I could come and find you after?” His voice wavers as he makes the offer he desperately doesn't want to follow through on.

Bob laughs. “Sure. But I'll wait here. Let me go get some drinks.” His knowing look says he realized Kent was considering not actually showing up. Of course Kent should have known that wouldn't work. Bob was anything but stupid and he knows Kent isn’t exactly an enthusiastic partner.

Kent knows he can't say no to Bob. He had tried when Bob’s behavior had first crossed from mentoring to controlling but he couldn’t bring himself to actually stop him, nor to stay away. Bob had made him feel important and then, once Kent had got used to the attention, he had become more demanding and harder to please. Kent had tried to get away then but it was already too late; Bob knew him too well, knew all his secrets and Kent had no chance against him.

As much as he hates it, there's no-one whose praise means more to him. Maybe it’s Bob’s charisma. Maybe it's Kent’s own unresolved daddy issues - his own father had always been distant - or perhaps the remnants of hero worship but it still thrills him when Bob tells him he's done well however much he hates what he's doing when he says it.

Kent considers just leaving but he doesn’t want to take the chance that Bob might get his address from one of his teammates and turn up at his door. When the party starts to break up, and Kent has no more excuses to linger, they head up to Bob's room. Bob brings a bottle of champagne with him. "Something to toast you with," he tells Kent.

Kent keeps a little difference between them, grateful for other hotel guests in the elevator but Bob closes the gap as soon as they are alone, pulling Kent flush against his body so he can feel Bob's hardness against his hip.

Bob offers him a glass and Kent takes it but only sips at the contents. While he appreciates the numbing effect of alcohol, he knows what's going to happen once he finishes and he’s in no hurry for that.

Downing his own glass, Bob starts to unbutton Kent's shirt. Kent suppresses a shudder as Bob's hand strokes over his abs but he can’t help flinching when Bob reaches for the button of his pants.

Bob ignores it, and leans in to press his lips against Kent’s temple. Kent takes another sip of his drink, forcing himself not to turn away.

Closing his eyes so he can’t see Bob’s reaction, Kent says, “I don’t want this.” His throat tries to seize over the words and he can feel his heart beating out of his chest but Bob’s hands don’t stop moving over him.

"Why don't you take a shower?" Bob suggests, ignoring his token protest, as Kent had known he would. It still makes his chest ache. “Get yourself ready for me,” Bob continues.

Even knowing what Bob expects of him, it still makes Kent’s skin crawl to hear him state it like that. At least Bob doesn’t seem inclined to join him in the shower, leaning in the doorway long enough to watch Kent strip himself with shaking hands and then leaving him to his preparations.

Kent takes as long as he dares, telling himself he is just being thorough. Even though he knows what Bob wants, Kent still wraps the bathrobe around himself before heading back out. Despite everything, Kent hopes this time will be different, or perhaps Bob will have passed out drunk already but he has no such luck. 

Bob's sitting on the bed, shirt undone, pants open with his cock out. When he sees Kent, he hits mute on the TV, but the adult movie keeps playing, and he strokes himself a couple more time while looking Kent over before gesturing for him to come closer.

Kent feels distant from his body as he walks towards the bed and sits down on the edge. Bob pulls him down into a kiss, forcing his tongue into Kent’s mouth demandingly. Kent digs his fingers into the plush fabric of the robe so he doesn't have to touch Bob.

“You want to put that pretty mouth to good use?” Bob says when he pulls away. It's not a question.

He doesn’t want to but Kent drops to his knees anyway. He doesn’t waste any time taking Bob’s cock into his mouth. The sooner he is satisfied, the sooner Kent can get out of here, away from him.

Bob pushes the robe off Kent's shoulders and he lets it drop though he feels exposed now. Bob pulls at Kent's hair while he blows him and Kent wishes he'd had it cut short. He is being courteous, for Bob, not pushing in too deep nor holding Kent down longer than he can take but he still knows his throat will be sore in the morning, his jaw aching from being stretched wide.

His grip prevents Kent from setting his own rhythm and Bob seems happy to take his time. Kent works his tongue against the shaft, trying to bring him to the edge sooner but to no avail.

"That's enough," Bob says, pulling him back before he comes, and Kent should have known better than to hope it would be that easy.

Kent lets Bob pull him onto the bed and push him onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as Bob fingers him open. He hasn't done this in a while but he still remembers how to relax and let it happen.

"Such a tight bitch," Bob says and Kent flinches but he won’t cry. Bob’s fingers are thick as they reach all the places inside that make him squirm. Kent hates the way it feels so good, that Bob knows his body so well he can't help but respond.

It doesn’t take long before Bob decides he’s ready. “Roll over,” he says roughly.

Kent does as he is told, biting into the pillow as Bob pushes in. It hurts, the prep too rushed to really ease the way and Bob is a big guy in every way. Bob's fingers dig into his hips in a way Kent knows will leave bruises but at least he won't have to find a way to cover them in the locker room.

Bob doesn't wait for Kent to adjust, no sign of the fake gentleness he had demonstrated the first few times, but Kent is ashamed that he enjoys the roughness, has grown used to it. Still, he can no longer hold back his tears and they soak into the pillow. 

This was supposed to be a happy night but he knows he is never going to be able to remember winning the Calder without remembering this too. What should be a happy memory is now tainted by the man he can’t escape, like so many others.

It seems to take an age before Bob finally finishes inside him and Kent shudders at the sensation. He tells himself it could be worse as Bob pulls out since at least he can tell he used a condom this time. Kent still remembers how Bob had laughed the first time Kent had suggested it telling him, “It's not like I'm going to knock you up.”

He rolls off and Kent takes a deep breath. He's still hard and, while he could probably reach down and finish himself off, he knows Bob doesn't care and so doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing Kent got off on this.

Kent lays there for a few minutes longer before it occurs to him that he's going to have to be the one to get up and leave. He steels himself and sits up. The ride back to his place is not going to be fun.

“Going so soon?” Bob asks, his tone is almost disinterested but nevertheless he sits up watching Kent gather his clothes.

"I need to check on my cat," Kent says. It's not even entirely untrue. He dresses quickly, uncomfortably aware of Bob's gaze on him and not wanting to spend any more time then necessary here.

“Well, I'm sure I'll see you around, Kenny,” Bob says, sounding smugly satisfied. 

Of course he will. As long as Kent keeps playing he's never going to be free of Bob, but for tonight he escapes into the Vegas night.


End file.
